Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “Well, that is a relief. So we are not anticipating a dinner of boiled vegetables and burned roast?”

  “I do not believe so. But preventing that eventuality is one reason I have dispatched Mrs. Swinton below stairs.”

  “Dear me, this is an unfortunate turn of events,” Darrius remarked. “If you wish it, I can send back to the Main House for my cook.”

  “Let us wait on that just a little, Darrius. It is my hope that the young undercook is sufficiently trained to turn out something edible. I certainly would not have preferred to undertake this dinner party with an inexperienced hand in the kitchen, but I am grateful that Mr. Rudge has been working with him.”

  “When might we expect Mrs. Swinton from below stairs?”

  “I am here,” Evelyn said, appearing at the drawing room doorway. “I just need a few minutes to go to my room and freshen up.”

  “How is Mr. Rudge?” the Duchess asked.

  “His ankle is broken, and he has a sizeable bruise on the side of his head. He is in some pain, but Dr. Alton is reluctant to administer anything for the pain, lest he have a concussion. The youngest footman is sitting with him and changing out cold cloths on the ankle. Mr. Rudge seems to settle better with him than with one of the maids.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” Darrius said equably. “A gentleman would feel less constrained with one of his own gender in attendance. How is dinner?”

  “Ready to be served, Your Grace. Mrs. Henshaw is seeing to the final touches while Jemmy takes care of the larger items. He set Mr. McElroy to tending the roast as soon as he realized that there might be a problem, so it will be well-basted and perfectly turned. It seems that Mr. McElroy has a deft hand with roasting.”

  “Excellent. I am somewhat surprised that there will be a roast at this season,” Darrius commented.

  “It is only mutton, Your Grace. One of the ewes was mired near the brook and broke her neck in the struggle to get free. The shepherd quite rightly skinned it out. We have the choicest parts, while the rest has been shared out among the neediest villagers.”

  “Well managed,” Darrius approved. “Was this the shepherd’s idea, Mrs. Swinton?”

  “Mr. Rudge’s, actually, but it had Mr. Wilson and the head farmer’s approval.”

  Darrius nodded, but had nothing further to say upon the matter.

  “Now, if I might be excused?” Evelyn queried. “I will be back in a trice to see to your coiffure, Your Grace, but I believe that Betty has it well in hand. Nicely done, Betty.”

  “Of course, my dear,” the Duchess said. “But do hurry. Let us try to avoid further disasters before dinner. Ordinarily, I would be quite equable with waiting or having a simple supper, but this one is quite important to me.”

  “I understand. I shall be but a moment,” Evelyn said.

  After the companion had left the room, Darrius said, “Do you ordinarily allow her such latitude, Mother? That was quite a high-handed entrance and exit with commensurate insouciance.”

  “Considering the events of the day, I appreciate her willingness to get on with things with great dispatch. We have little time before my guests are likely to arrive.”

  “I understand,” Darrius said, making a mental note to keep an eye on Mrs. Swinton’s manner in the future. She seemed to be getting a bit above herself.

  The Duchess’ faith in her companion seemed to be justified, however, for in short order, Mrs. Swinton returned, attired in her usual somber evening gown. She quickly checked Betty’s work, made one or two adjustments to the Duchess’ coiffure, and they were ready to assay the journey to the dining room.

  The Duchess struggled to her feet, then strolled in her ponderous way to the dining room where she sat at the head of the table.

  Soon the guests began to arrive. They were, of course, Lord and Lady Carletane and their daughter, Blanche. The magistrate, constable, and physician were also in attendance. The table ran a bit heavily toward masculine attendance, but that was balanced by Mrs. Swinton’s modest presence.

  It was, in many ways, the same dinner party as had last been held in that room save for the addition of Dr. Alton and the much-changed appearance of Miss Notley.

  Rather than seeming listless and peevish as she had at the previous dinner, she seemed almost wraithlike, yet pleasant and affable. Her face, innocent of paint or powder, was pale and her eyes were hollowed, yet bright.

  By contrast, Lady Carletane’s face was copiously painted and powdered. She wore a wig of a style twenty years out of date, and her dinner gown was similarly out of fashion. For all of that, she clearly had put on her best for the occasion.

  The Duchess levered herself out of her chair, extending both hands to her old friend. “Lavinia! It is so good to see you in person, although your letters have cheered me greatly.”

  “I am grateful to see you as well,” Lady Carleton replied, air kissing the Duchess on both cheeks. “It is a pleasure to see you standing up on your feet.”

  “It is all thanks to Dr. Alton and our able cook’s ability to carry out his food prescriptions. I walked all the way to the end of the garden and back.”

  “I will own that his recommendations have done wonders for Blanche,” Lady Carleton admitted. “But I simply cannot bear to appear in public without my face properly put on.”

  “When Blanche is fully recovered, I think you will find it worth your while to give up such fripperies in the interest of good health,” Dr. Alton put in. Then he raised his hands, as if to ward off an attack. “But do not let that come between the two of you or between you and your daughter. I am a crude old soldier, unschooled in proper society manners.”

  “We shall make a civilized man of you yet,” Lady Carletane averred. “And I shall forgive you your blunt forwardness, in light of my daughter’s continued improvement.”

  “I bow to your social wisdom as you bow to my knowledge of health, Lady Carletane. Thus we are both well served.”

  “It would seem,” Darrius observed, “That the good doctor’s diplomacy has already improved.”

  “Or at the very least, his value to my wife,” Lord Carletane added with a chuckle. “It has been a relief to have a daughter who is steadily feeling better as a result of her physician’s advice.”

  “Late Summer Vegetable Soup,” Wilson announced, and the serving staff brought in the first course.

  Darrius tasted it, and was relieved to note that it was up to the household’s usual excellence. General conversation came to a halt as the company tasted the soup.

  “Excellent,” the magistrate murmured to the physician. “Perhaps a medical recommendation?”

  “No, merely the dictates of cleaning out the cellars,” Dr. Alton murmured back. “But not contrary to good sense and good health.”

  As each course was brought to the table, no discernable loss of quality was noted until the dessert was brought in. It was a light applesauce spooned over a sponge cake, good enough in its own way but not the sort of dish usually prepared by the Dowager House’s renowned cook.

  “That was excellent,” the Duchess said to Wilson. “Will you request that the cook come up to receive compliments?”

  Wilson gave her an odd look, but at her slight nod, he said, “Of course, Your Grace. It will take only a moment.”

  It was not Mr. Rudge who came to the door in white chef’s hat and clean apron, but Jemmy, the undercook. He bowed, as was proper, but then added with slight impropriety, “Mr. Rudge set it all up except for the dessert. But he’s had a mishap, and is sleeping now.”

  There was a slight murmur of surprise around the table, followed by condolences and wishes for the cook’s speedy recovery in addition to praise for the young undercook. At a signal from Wilson, Jemmy withdrew.

  “What a strange thing,” Lady Carletane commented. “You are bearing up remarkably well. I’m sure I should have been prostrate with the cook out of commission and a major dinner party planned.”

  “That is what comes of having good, loyal st
aff,” the Duchess said affably. “In a pinch, they always come through.”

  Darrius sighed inwardly. If his mother only knew the machinations he had gone through to obtain that loyal staff, or the indignities heaped upon his head as rejected workers were asked to leave for the most minute infractions. What would happen to this staff if he could not reverse the estate’s fortunes?

  It was with difficulty, that he brought his attention back to the table conversation. “…looking for the lost heir,” he heard his mother saying. “Yes, there are handbills out all over the village, or so Mrs. Swinton tells me. As you know, I don’t make it out that often.”

  “It is true,” Constable Morris remarked. “It would seem that Mr. Rutley wishes to establish a legitimate claim to Hillsworth so that he can have both the title and the fortune.”

  “Would it be worth a great deal?” Dr. Alton asked.

  “Who knows?” the constable shrugged. “One thing is for sure, the grounds have grown shabby, and Rutley has difficulty keeping staff.”

  “Why is that, do you suppose?” Lord Carletane speculated.

  “No idea,” the constable said, “But I do know that there is a great deal of ill feeling toward him, and the feeling that he is not doing a good job as a caretaker.”

  “Dear me,” the Duchess remarked. “It was such a showcase in its time.”

  Lord and Lady Carletane declined to stay for brandy, pleading the long drive home and the increasing chill of the evenings. The Duchess beamed a bright smile at each of the guests as they came forward to thank her for the meal, and say their goodbyes.

  When all but Dr. Alton had departed, the Duchess prepared to return to her rooms. She groaned as she heaved her bulk upward and stood, swaying a little on her feet. Evelyn quickly went to her, and offered a hand for Her Grace to lean on.

  “Thank you, my dear,” the Duchess said. “I believe I should make an early night of it.” Then she abruptly sat back down in her chair. “How humiliating. My feet do not wish to bear me up.”

  Dr. Alton quickly came forward. “May I examine them?” he asked.

  “By all means!” the Duchess consented fervently.

  The physician knelt at her feet, drawing up only as much of the ruffle as he needed to be able to see that her ankles were hugely swollen and her feet bulging out of her shoes.

  “Let us have two of the footmen carry her to her rooms in her chair,” Dr. Alton said. “I believe she has had enough excitement for tonight.”

  Evelyn hurried after the Duchess as she was carried to her rooms. What next? Was reconciling with her old friend too much for Her Grace? Was the stress of dealing with the loss of her favorite cook too much?

  Chapter 32

  Two shadowy figures met at the old stable.

  “Are you pleased?” one asked the other.

  “Your timing could have been better,” grumbled the first.

  “Oh, no,” the second speaker smirked. “My timing was perfect. How else to make Rudge look incompetent?”

  “No names here,” the first speaker reminded. “Nor is incompetent exactly the target. Besides, since when did a tumble down cellar steps indicate incompetence?”

  “A failure to pay attention, or perhaps making too great haste on unstable footing,” suggested the second speaker.

  “Perhaps. But how does this further my goals? My principle is expecting to have his problem removed, disposed of in some manner. Either frightened off or destroyed.”

  “Best destroyed,” said the second speaker. “Scaring off is like putting a scarecrow in the fields and thinking that it will keep your crop safe.”

  “Indeed. So how does your ploy further my goal, I ask again?”

  “This is just the softening up stage. Just you wait and see. Your subject will be just as happy to disappear by the time I am through, and you’ll have no murder charge to withstand.”

  “Murder?”

  “What else do you call it? Death by mischance? Succumbing to evil circumstance? As well to call a spade what it is rather than a digging implement.”

  “I suppose,” sighed the first speaker. “It just seems so sordid when you put it like that.”

  “Do you not find the whole thing more than a little sordid?”

  “Enough!” said the first with authority. “The pace on this needs to pick up. Soon that young constable will be suspicious.”

  “All the more reason to go quiet and easy,” said the second speaker. “But suit yourself. I’ll see to it that my hands are clean of the very least of it.”

  “I’m sure you will. But I want it done and over before All Hallows so that we might enjoy the Christmas season without any trace of unease.”

  The second speaker just laughed.

  Chapter 33

  Mayson sat on a tall-backed chair with his broken foot propped on another chair while Jemmy and Mr. McElroy scurried about the kitchen following his directions. Evelyn had just gone back upstairs to see to the Duchess.

  Mayson blinked his eyes, forcing himself not to rub them, then returned to the interminable job of shelling dry peas. The hard, pebble-like things would be stored in sealed jars and used to make soups and stews throughout the winter.

  Ordinarily, this would be a job given to a low-level kitchen worker or a staff member from some other part of the house. But Mayson found that forced inactivity wore on him. Relegated to a supervisory position, he found that shelling peas or peeling vegetables at least kept his hands busy.

  “Jemmy, have a care there. I can smell those cakes,” Mayson fretted.

  “Yessir, Mr. Rudge. I was just about to check them.”

  Jemmy carefully opened small oven beside the big fireplace. Sure enough, the cakes were done to a turn. The young cook carefully pulled them out, one at a time, being careful not to jostle them lest they fall. This was his second try of the day, and the dinner hour was fast approaching.

  It was almost as if everyone in the kitchen was holding their breath as the cakes landed safely on the table and held their shape as they started to cool.

  Jemmy was just turning back to close the oven door, when the metal rack above the big cooling table made a strange groaning sound and fell directly upon the cooling table, narrowly missing Mayson where he sat with the bowl full of peas.

  Mr. McElroy came rushing in from the washing bench. “Thunder and lightning!” he shouted. “What the tarnation!”

  “Jemmy,” Mayson called. “Are you hurt?”

  “I am all right, Mr. Rudge,” Jemmy said, his voice wobbling up into a boy’s falsetto for just a moment. Then he swallowed audibly and asked, “What about you Mr. Mayson?”

  “It missed me, but only just. Jemmy, I’m afraid your beautiful cakes are a casualty, however.”

  “Don’t that just take all,” Jemmy growled.

  “Nothin’ for it,” Mr. McElroy said. “We shall have to send down to the bakery in the village and hope they have some cake or biscuits that can be served. By the time we clear this up, there will not be enough time to bake another.”

  “And they turned out good, too,” Jemmy sighed. He was not crying, but the disappointment was clear in his voice.

  “You have the experience,” Mayson comforted him. “The next time, it will be easier. Call up to Mr. Wilson, and ask for some footmen to help clear this up. It is fortunate that there were lids on the pots and that the roasting hens are still in the ovens.”

  “Oh, Lor…” Jemmy swore. “I near forgot them.” He opened the oven door, revealing two beautifully browned birds. “Where can I put them? Everything is all over dust in here.”

  “The big drying table in the washroom,” Mr. McElroy said quickly. “I just cleared it. We can throw a cloth over them to keep the dust off.”

  Quickly Jemmy and Mr. McElroy moved to do just that.

  Evelyn came dashing down the steps. “We heard a crash upstairs. Is everything...?”

  She stopped speaking as she saw the big metal rack and all the large pots, pans, and kitchen impleme
nts lying on the central table and the floor. “Oh, my! Is everyone all right? Is anyone hurt?”

  “Only the cakes,” Jemmy said, with grim humor. “They turned out prime, too.”

  “Oh, Jemmy!” Evelyn gave a little laugh of relief. “I am so sorry. I know it was your second try today, and that the first batch fell. But… do you still have the first go? We do not have guests tonight, and I know the Duchess will understand.”

  Wilson, who had been on his way down in response to the bell, stopped aghast at the door. “Oh, my word! Is anyone hurt?”